It's not difficult to pack up the big stuff; desk, bookcase, coffee table are all easy- just wrap 'em good and put 'em in a box. What I find to be really difficult is packing up the detritus and ephemera that fills my desk drawers. Everything, from the worn guitar picks to the bits of papers with song lyrics scrawled across them to the faded bar towels, not only is an object to be dealt with- kept and packed or donated or thrown away- but a memory that also must be dealt with at the same time- kept and packed or thrown away. It's this second part that usually takes up all the time. I'm doing lots of throwing away and I'm surprised at how easy it is. There is a lot of Phoenix that I'm happy to leave in Phoenix.
Song of the Moment
The Inn of Infinite Sadness, or alternatively, Smudge and Hobbes' Traumatising Transcendental Transatlantic Trip. Being the adventures of two very large, unwillingly peripatetic, half-Bengal cats and their owner (of rather similar description) as they prepare to leave the North American continent in search of a new life in their (the cats, not the owner) ancestral homeland of Aneda. Sigh, what I won't do for a decent cup of tea.
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